Post by Zola Rhomdaen on Aug 24, 2024 10:24:13 GMT
(After Family Ties.)
When Matches returns to Zola’s room at the Mirror after a night of gambling, he finds her sitting cross-legged on the bed, staring down at a clutch of unrolled lizardskin parchment in her hands, scrawled with Elvish cursive. Letters in Drowic.
He winces as he clocks the parchment. This can’t be good. He takes a moment to code-switch, inhaling a breath before entering, and sitting quietly next to Zola. “Hey darling, what have we got here?”
“Oh, Matches!” Zola scoots closer to him and shows him the letters, letting him glimpse a few words. Both seem incredibly formal in the way snooty nobles would write. “My sister Larynda and the great houses got in touch with me, separately. They…all want to speak to me in Aeschira?”
“Well, that’s a good sign, right? Despite your mother’s…intervention, they still want to talk.”
He parses over the letters, recognising parts from the Elvish root, but getting lost in the specifics. Still, he manages to spot the name Larynda Rhomdaen signed at the bottom of one of them. It is a short letter, very to-the-point, without any kind of pleasantries.
“Definitely,” Zola replies breathlessly. “I’m so glad Larynda kept her promise for a chat. We can finally talk about the future of the house, what to do with our mother, what we should tell the other houses… Oh gods, there’s so much stuff to do.”
In the days since her return to Daring Heights, Zola had seemed unfocused, even distant at times, as though she’d left her mind behind in Aeschira. Matches could see the anxiety and the anger from that day at the mansion haunting her behind her eyes. This is the most spirited she’s been in a while. He smiles genuinely as he sees the relief on her face.
“I’m proper chuffed for you, love. It’s been a long time coming, all this. You deserve a bit of good fortune.” His eyebrows burrow a little in thought, but tries to keep an optimistic tone. “Is there any mention of your… You know, your feller? And how he fits into this? Or just the summons?”
She shakes her head no, a tinge of sourness dropping into her expression. “Nothing about him. I’ve not heard from him at all either. That bastard.”
“Well, considering your sister has sent a fancy letter and not completely abandoned you for it, they might have a way to deal with it? Or at least be willing to work with you to find out what can be done. The resources available to great houses aren’t a bad shout here.”
“The great houses will want him dead… But I’m not sure what Larynda’s opinion is. That’s one thing I’m about to find out, I guess.”
Zola looks at Matches and lays a hand on his forearm, rubbing up and down. “I’m sorry, I know I've been…off in the last few days. My mind has been occupied, and it wasn’t fair to you.”
“No, hey, you’re alright.” He places his clawed hand on top of hers. “This is a huge thing for you — I’ve known that since the day we met. Much bigger than me. I know you gotta do what you gotta do.”
She smiles forlornly at him, then leans her head on his shoulder. “I have to go away, Matches,” she murmurs. “I think I'll reply to my sister: I shall be there in three days’ time, and then a tenday after that, I shall meet with the other houses. I…don’t know when I’ll come back, if I’ll come back.”
“Right… Of course. Yeah.” He gently rests his head on hers and clears his throat. “Of course. I get it, like I said, I’ve known it as long as I’ve known you. I suppose I should thank you. For whatever this…is. Was. It’s been…a blessing, to find comfort with someone else who got a shit hand from destiny.”
Zola straightens up and gazes at him. She doesn’t say anything yet, but the soft, wide-eyed look on her face speaks clearly to him: Whatever you’re feeling, you can let it out. As soon as she looks him in the face, his rehearsed, prepared wall that was put up to protect him behind begin to melt. He groans and rests his forehead against hers.
“Ever feel like running away from it all?”
“Running away…?”
“Putting all the money you have to wards against scrying. Packing up, leaving everything behind. A quiet life.”
“Are you…proposing that we do that? Together?”
Once she gets over the initial shock, she begins to consider it, actually considering it. Matches can practically see the gears turning in her head.
“That doesn’t sound so bad, actually,” she mutters. “No more devils. No more elementals. Not a Sword Saint or a Matron Mother or a Herald. Just a man and a woman living in a cottage somewhere.”
Matches gives a solemn smile. “I wouldn’t have to keep journeying to other planes, putting myself in the line of fire of godlike creatures. I wouldn’t have to compare myself to anyone anymore. I could be me. You could be you.” He plants a kiss on top of her head and looks out to nowhere in particular. “Of course, there would always be the nagging feeling in the back of our heads. We would never see the result of everything we’ve worked for. We’d leave everyone else who cares about us for each other…after a month of knowing each other. I don’t think we’d have any logical reason to do it.” He sniffs a little and rubs his moustache idly, lost in the fantasy. “But I think about it a lot.”
Zola chuckles, her eye pricking with tears as a grin blooms across her face. “We could get a nice little house far away from other people. We could… Oh gods, what would we even do for a living? I could be a juggler?”
“Yeah, I’ll be honest, I didn’t have a lot of career prospects before I could shoot fire out of my hands.” He manages to get a chuckle out too, reaching a hand across to wipe the tears from the corner of her eye. “I don’t think I can go back.”
“Oh, so you’d be leaving me to take care of everything and take care of you…” She hits him playfully with a pillow.
He gives a shit eating grin and takes the hit from the pillow with a laugh, then lunges at her to push her down onto the bed. “What? You wouldn’t like to take care of me?”
Zola squeals and laughs. “First thing on the agenda is forcing you to learn how to farm!” She giggles at the mental image of Matches in overalls and a straw hat. “But I’ll carry you home from work every day, as a treat. And then we can have a dog. Or a cat. Or a dog and a cat.”
“And I would need it ever so desperately. Working hard day in and day out just to put food on the table in our tiny little kitchen.” He chuckles and peppers pecks along her neck.
She moans softly and runs her fingers through his thick curls. “Honestly, so spoiled! And I’m supposed to be the noble absconding her responsibilities here.”
She catches his gaze again as his lips press against her jaw, and stares into his red eyes for a long, quiet while. She sees the plea in them, hoping against hope that she would, in spite of everything, in spite of even the short time they’ve known each other, to say: Yes. Let’s do it.
But she can’t. Neither of them can.
His eyes show the understanding, the sorrow at the loss of a potential future, but under it all, the understanding and acceptance of the truth. He smiles a little looking down at her, moving a strand of her hair out of her face.
“Like I said, completely illogical. It can’t happen… But it can be true tonight. Just one night.”
Her hand strokes his cheek so gently. “I need to believe that I can still be myself over there. And you can be you too, Matches. You don’t have to compare yourself to anyone. You are enough. More than enough.”
Matches presses his hand to hers and sighs deeply, kissing her fingers softly. “…You…are going to need to stop talking, or I will not be able to let you go.”
Zola smiles up at him. A small part of her wants just that, for him to hold on to her forever.
“One night,” she promises in a whisper.
Her hand moves to the back of his neck as she pulls him down for a deep kiss.
One long kiss turns into many. In between searing kisses, she gasps for breath and murmurs against his lips, “I love you.”
Matches does not skip a beat. “I love you too,” he manages before cupping her face in both hands and kissing her deeply.
It is true for that one night. In the world they have made, it is honest and real.
Co-written with Harry
When Matches returns to Zola’s room at the Mirror after a night of gambling, he finds her sitting cross-legged on the bed, staring down at a clutch of unrolled lizardskin parchment in her hands, scrawled with Elvish cursive. Letters in Drowic.
He winces as he clocks the parchment. This can’t be good. He takes a moment to code-switch, inhaling a breath before entering, and sitting quietly next to Zola. “Hey darling, what have we got here?”
“Oh, Matches!” Zola scoots closer to him and shows him the letters, letting him glimpse a few words. Both seem incredibly formal in the way snooty nobles would write. “My sister Larynda and the great houses got in touch with me, separately. They…all want to speak to me in Aeschira?”
“Well, that’s a good sign, right? Despite your mother’s…intervention, they still want to talk.”
He parses over the letters, recognising parts from the Elvish root, but getting lost in the specifics. Still, he manages to spot the name Larynda Rhomdaen signed at the bottom of one of them. It is a short letter, very to-the-point, without any kind of pleasantries.
“Definitely,” Zola replies breathlessly. “I’m so glad Larynda kept her promise for a chat. We can finally talk about the future of the house, what to do with our mother, what we should tell the other houses… Oh gods, there’s so much stuff to do.”
In the days since her return to Daring Heights, Zola had seemed unfocused, even distant at times, as though she’d left her mind behind in Aeschira. Matches could see the anxiety and the anger from that day at the mansion haunting her behind her eyes. This is the most spirited she’s been in a while. He smiles genuinely as he sees the relief on her face.
“I’m proper chuffed for you, love. It’s been a long time coming, all this. You deserve a bit of good fortune.” His eyebrows burrow a little in thought, but tries to keep an optimistic tone. “Is there any mention of your… You know, your feller? And how he fits into this? Or just the summons?”
She shakes her head no, a tinge of sourness dropping into her expression. “Nothing about him. I’ve not heard from him at all either. That bastard.”
“Well, considering your sister has sent a fancy letter and not completely abandoned you for it, they might have a way to deal with it? Or at least be willing to work with you to find out what can be done. The resources available to great houses aren’t a bad shout here.”
“The great houses will want him dead… But I’m not sure what Larynda’s opinion is. That’s one thing I’m about to find out, I guess.”
Zola looks at Matches and lays a hand on his forearm, rubbing up and down. “I’m sorry, I know I've been…off in the last few days. My mind has been occupied, and it wasn’t fair to you.”
“No, hey, you’re alright.” He places his clawed hand on top of hers. “This is a huge thing for you — I’ve known that since the day we met. Much bigger than me. I know you gotta do what you gotta do.”
She smiles forlornly at him, then leans her head on his shoulder. “I have to go away, Matches,” she murmurs. “I think I'll reply to my sister: I shall be there in three days’ time, and then a tenday after that, I shall meet with the other houses. I…don’t know when I’ll come back, if I’ll come back.”
“Right… Of course. Yeah.” He gently rests his head on hers and clears his throat. “Of course. I get it, like I said, I’ve known it as long as I’ve known you. I suppose I should thank you. For whatever this…is. Was. It’s been…a blessing, to find comfort with someone else who got a shit hand from destiny.”
Zola straightens up and gazes at him. She doesn’t say anything yet, but the soft, wide-eyed look on her face speaks clearly to him: Whatever you’re feeling, you can let it out. As soon as she looks him in the face, his rehearsed, prepared wall that was put up to protect him behind begin to melt. He groans and rests his forehead against hers.
“Ever feel like running away from it all?”
“Running away…?”
“Putting all the money you have to wards against scrying. Packing up, leaving everything behind. A quiet life.”
“Are you…proposing that we do that? Together?”
Once she gets over the initial shock, she begins to consider it, actually considering it. Matches can practically see the gears turning in her head.
“That doesn’t sound so bad, actually,” she mutters. “No more devils. No more elementals. Not a Sword Saint or a Matron Mother or a Herald. Just a man and a woman living in a cottage somewhere.”
Matches gives a solemn smile. “I wouldn’t have to keep journeying to other planes, putting myself in the line of fire of godlike creatures. I wouldn’t have to compare myself to anyone anymore. I could be me. You could be you.” He plants a kiss on top of her head and looks out to nowhere in particular. “Of course, there would always be the nagging feeling in the back of our heads. We would never see the result of everything we’ve worked for. We’d leave everyone else who cares about us for each other…after a month of knowing each other. I don’t think we’d have any logical reason to do it.” He sniffs a little and rubs his moustache idly, lost in the fantasy. “But I think about it a lot.”
Zola chuckles, her eye pricking with tears as a grin blooms across her face. “We could get a nice little house far away from other people. We could… Oh gods, what would we even do for a living? I could be a juggler?”
“Yeah, I’ll be honest, I didn’t have a lot of career prospects before I could shoot fire out of my hands.” He manages to get a chuckle out too, reaching a hand across to wipe the tears from the corner of her eye. “I don’t think I can go back.”
“Oh, so you’d be leaving me to take care of everything and take care of you…” She hits him playfully with a pillow.
He gives a shit eating grin and takes the hit from the pillow with a laugh, then lunges at her to push her down onto the bed. “What? You wouldn’t like to take care of me?”
Zola squeals and laughs. “First thing on the agenda is forcing you to learn how to farm!” She giggles at the mental image of Matches in overalls and a straw hat. “But I’ll carry you home from work every day, as a treat. And then we can have a dog. Or a cat. Or a dog and a cat.”
“And I would need it ever so desperately. Working hard day in and day out just to put food on the table in our tiny little kitchen.” He chuckles and peppers pecks along her neck.
She moans softly and runs her fingers through his thick curls. “Honestly, so spoiled! And I’m supposed to be the noble absconding her responsibilities here.”
She catches his gaze again as his lips press against her jaw, and stares into his red eyes for a long, quiet while. She sees the plea in them, hoping against hope that she would, in spite of everything, in spite of even the short time they’ve known each other, to say: Yes. Let’s do it.
But she can’t. Neither of them can.
His eyes show the understanding, the sorrow at the loss of a potential future, but under it all, the understanding and acceptance of the truth. He smiles a little looking down at her, moving a strand of her hair out of her face.
“Like I said, completely illogical. It can’t happen… But it can be true tonight. Just one night.”
Her hand strokes his cheek so gently. “I need to believe that I can still be myself over there. And you can be you too, Matches. You don’t have to compare yourself to anyone. You are enough. More than enough.”
Matches presses his hand to hers and sighs deeply, kissing her fingers softly. “…You…are going to need to stop talking, or I will not be able to let you go.”
Zola smiles up at him. A small part of her wants just that, for him to hold on to her forever.
“One night,” she promises in a whisper.
Her hand moves to the back of his neck as she pulls him down for a deep kiss.
One long kiss turns into many. In between searing kisses, she gasps for breath and murmurs against his lips, “I love you.”
Matches does not skip a beat. “I love you too,” he manages before cupping her face in both hands and kissing her deeply.
It is true for that one night. In the world they have made, it is honest and real.
Co-written with Harry